


Stuck

by potentiality_26



Category: Wild Wild West (TV)
Genre: First Time, M/M, Porn With Plot, Trapped In A Closet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-12 18:23:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13553001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potentiality_26/pseuds/potentiality_26
Summary: His luck being what it was, Jim should’ve known that he would stumble across the hideout of some local bandits and get shut up in a closet with barely enough room for two men to breathe deeply, let alone work themselves free.Jim and Artie are locked in a closet.  It might just be a blessing in disguise.





	Stuck

“Yep,” Jim said dryly.  “This is better.”  It honestly served him right for thinking his day couldn’t get any worse.  His luck being what it was, Jim should’ve known that he would stumble across the hideout of some local outlaws and get shut up in a closet with barely enough room for two men to breathe deeply, let alone work themselves free.

“What?” Artie asked.

“Nothing,” Jim replied.  It was pitch black in the closet, but Jim closed his eyes anyway as he wished, not for the first time, that it was still the previous night and he was trapped only in an unfortunate dream.

"Sorry about the smell.”

“Don’t worry about it.”  The smell of the cheap alcohol that Artie had used to cover the tell-tale scents of spirit gum and greasepaint which always accompanied his disguises was pungent, to be sure- but Jim was accustomed to it already.  Anyway, the even less pleasant smells of dust and mud and horse sweat hung thicker still in the air, and they were entirely Jim’s fault.    

“Jim?”

“Hmm?”

“Relax your neck, would you?  I’m getting sore just thinking about it.”

Jim snorted.  If he relaxed his neck, he’d be resting his forehead against Artie’s cheek, his mouth brushing his chin.  It was bad enough that they were wedged in chest to chest- not to mention groin to hip.  Jim’s fingers were curled into a fist near Artie's neck, digging into his palm with the effort it took not to run them through Artie’s hair.  His other hand was trapped uncomfortably behind his own back.  Artie hands were... well, stuck below Jim’s belt, in places he couldn’t think about too closely if he didn't want to provoke a more physical reaction. 

“Honestly, Jim- it won’t be much longer.  I told the marshal to send a deputy after me if I wasn’t back by now.  Someone will be here soon to let us out- even accounting for the weather.”  His tone turned sarcastic.  “Just try not to look like you had too much fun in the meantime.”

Jim tried to laugh, but it came out wrong.  He abruptly lost the will to fight and rested his nose against Artie’s head.  Alcohol, mud, makeup, sweat- and under it, Artie.  He inhaled, nails drawing blood from his palm.

“What are you doing here, anyway?  You can't have been on the road more than an hour by the time the rain stared.  Why didn’t you just turn around and go back to Franklinville?”

“I thought about it,” Jim confessed.  Lying wasn't worth the effort when they were this close together, and that part was innocent enough.  The clouds had rolled in seemingly out of nowhere in the middle of an otherwise warm day.  The earthy aroma of newly-wet dust had been strong enough to choke Jim, and things only got worse as the dust turned to mud.

Now Jim was soaked to the skin, his grimy clothes clinging uncomfortably- but Artie felt warm and solid.  He felt _good_ \- and this was as tight as Jim was likely to ever be able to hold him.  He was torn between savoring it and praying the floor would open up and swallow him whole.  

“I just really wanted to get home.”  Jim clenched his jaw around the rest.  How he’d slogged through the mud on foot after his horse threw a shoe, unwilling to give up after spending every waking moment in Franklinville- the little town where he'd had to give testimony at a trial-  telling himself that he’d be back in time to have dinner with Artie that night.  How he’d hated the thought of Artie worrying for him, or worse still concluding that Jim had gotten a better offer somewhere when in reality there was no such thing.  How he’d wanted so much to keep going even after he saw the three fugitive Macklin brothers, but finally known he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he did.  Jim felt foolish for all three, now.  Obviously Artie hadn’t expected them to matter at all.  

From the way Artie stiffened at this admission, he’d given too much away already.  So he went on the offensive, demanding, “What were _you_ doing out here when you thought that I was warm and dry in Franklinville?”

“They robbed a bank the next town over and I wanted to help catch them.”  Artie kindly didn’t mention the part where his guise as a drunken postman lost in the rain had completely taken in the burly but stupid outlaws.  If Jim hadn’t shown up... but Jim _had_ shown up, and the brighter of three had put a gun to Artie’s head on the off chance that Jim would back down to save a random civilian- which indeed he would have, so only Jim had to know how much seeing a revolver pressed to Artie’s temple had felt like having his heart ripped out of his chest.  So Jim had dropped his own gun, and the Macklin brothers had locked him and Artie both in this closet while they made their escape.  “What would you've preferred I do?  Catch up on my needlepoint?  Polish the silver?”

It was obvious from Artie’s tone that the accidental double meaning was anything but- and Jim’s brain cheerfully provided him with a vivid image of Artie lying on the couch on the train, stroking his cock.  Jim bit back a groan, unintentionally nuzzling Artie's jaw.  He tried to cover his arousal with anger.  “Anything could’ve happened!  And I wouldn’t have-”

“Yes, Jim,” Artie cut him off sourly.  “I committed the unforgivable sin of going into the field without telling my partner about it first- which I note is only unforgivable or a sin when _I_ do it.  And yet I somehow still wound up in this closet.  With you.”

Jim sighed.  He nuzzled Artie’s jaw again, helpless to stop himself.  Today wasn’t supposed to go like this.  They were supposed to have a nice dinner, and then- maybe over brandy- Jim was going to tell his partner that he’d fallen in love with him.  He'd known it for a while, but he'd only just made peace with it.  And now it would, Jim had decided while he was in Franklinville, be freeing to make a clean breast of it.  And then it would be in Artie’s hands whether the next few hours- and weeks and years- were heaven or hell. 

Oh, Jim didn’t think Artie would leap into his arms, hungry for him- though it was nice to imagine that he might- but he probably wouldn’t ask for a transfer or anything like that either.  Artie would just finally know that when he was in trouble Jim felt it more keenly than he ever did his own peril- and that he probably shouldn’t talk about polishing the silver while they were pressed close enough together that every breath grazed Jim’s nipples- hard from the stimuli of his waterlogged clothing- over Artie’s coat lapels. 

“Sorry,” Jim whispered.  With his lips pressed to Artie’s jaw as they were, the word felt like a tiny kiss.

Jim had been apologizing for the things he’d said- but Artie, having already forgiven this latest hypocrisy, or at least having decided to pretend that he had- assumed that he meant something else.  “Don’t worry about it, James.  Purely involuntary reaction.”  While Artie spoke, his hand- trapped between their bodies- flexed unconsciously.  

“Oh God,” Jim groaned, and did kiss his jaw.  “Artie.”

As determinedly as he’d been not thinking about Artie’s hands, it hadn’t stopped his body from reacting to the proximity of the man he loved after all.  And one of Artie’s palms was pressed flush against his erection.  His hips- such as they could in this confined space- bucked. 

“Sorry,” he choked.

“Hush, Jim,” Artie soothed.  “Suppose I- hmm.”  He made a sound halfway between a cough and sigh.  “If you had space to throw a punch we’d be out of here by now,” he murmured, as if only to himself.  Then, a little more confidently, “Would you like me to take care of that for you?”

Jim shuddered, hips rocking again.  It felt too good to stop even though a part of him knew he needed to.  There were a million of reasons to say no, or at least _not like this_ , but he’d promised himself that he wouldn’t lie to Artie anymore.  “Yes,” he hissed, burying his fingers in Artie’s curls at last.  They were as soft as he’d always imagined they’d be.

Artie cupped Jim’s erection, making him gasp.  Jim was closer to the edge than he’d imagined himself to be, and he didn’t think that it would take much more than a little sustained pressure- but follow-through had never been one of Artie’s problems.  When he said he’d do something, he never skimped- and apparently that included bringing his partner off while they were trapped together in a closet. 

He grunted a little with effort, but managed to move enough to undo Jim’s trousers.  He swore softly, tearing at Jim’s smallclothes, and Jim’s hand clenched in Artie’s hair, drawing his head back.  He pressed his face to Artie’s pulse. 

It was racing. 

Artie worked Jim’s cock free of his wet clothes.  He passed his thumb over the head and then gripped the shaft just tightly enough.  Jim groaned and thrust into Artie’s hand.  “Artie,” he breathed, unable to stop himself.  “Are you- are you hard?”

“I've got my hand on your ass.”  Artie chuckled, only the pounding of his pulse against Jim’s eyelids betraying even the slightest nervousness.  “What do you think?”  He squeezed firmly with his other hand- the hand Jim had all but forgotten about.  Jim jerked against him and- without meaning to- licked at the throbbing vein in Artie’s barred throat.

Didn’t Artie know that things would be progressing very differently right now- in either direction- if Jim knew for sure what Artie’s response to groping his ass might be?   

“Jesus, Jim,” Artie hissed, and kneaded.

Taking this for the unambiguous hint it seemed to be, Jim said, “I wanna feel it, Artie.”

“Christ.”  Artie shifted, withdrawing the hand on Jim’s cock.  Jim bit back a whine at the loss and promised himself he’d have something far better in a moment.  Over Artie’s gasps and his own, Jim heard the rustling of fabrics and then Artie swearing some more.  Then Artie moved again and Jim sobbed as Artie’s cock rubbed against his.  The friction alone was amazing, but then Artie’s hand came back, holding them both together.  “Oh, God, Jim,” Artie growled, mouth right against Jim’s ear as they strained against each other.

That was all it took.  “Artie,” Jim panted.  “Love y-” he cut himself off by sinking his teeth into the fabric of Artie’s jacket and came, tasting cheap whiskey and cotton.  He had no room to ride it out properly, he just shot all over Artie with his fists and eyes clenched shut. 

Artie dug bruising fingers into Jim’s ass, closing what little distance there had ever been between them.  His hips stuttered and he groaned as he followed Jim, semen splashing over Jim’s softening cock.

It took them both a long time to catch their breath.  Jim slowly relaxed his hand, finally just cupping the back of Artie’s head. 

“Sorry Jim,” Artie whispered.

Jim petted Artie’s hair, pressing his face into the crook of his neck.  This was too sweet to ruin with _sorry Jim_ s and _just a helping hand_ s- but it was already more than he’d ever expected.  Jim went for flippant as he asked, “What for?”

“We’ll never get back to the train in this weather- not in the middle of the night.”

“So?”  He swallowed.  Maybe they wouldn’t talk about it.  That was good, right?  That was what he’d wanted- for Artie to just know so they could get on with their lives.

“I know how much you wanted to get home.  And the state we’re in, we’ll be lucky if we're admitted to a hotel.  Speaking of which- I have handkerchief down the back of my neck you might be able to reach.” 

Jim released Artie’s head and retrieved it obediently, managing to contort his wrist enough to drop to the cloth into Artie’s waiting hand.  But he couldn’t keep back a sigh of disappointment as Artie began to disentangle them as best he could, wiping Jim clean and tucking him back into his trousers. 

“Sorry Jim,” he said again, sarcasm sharpening his voice this time.  “When we’re _not_ stuck to each other at a very embarrassing point when that deputy comes to rescue us, you’ll thank me.”     

"Right."

“And you _will_ remember what I said about not looking like you had too much fun in here, won’t you?” 

Again, Jim agreed. 

“Even if I tell you that I love you too?”

The remark was so offhanded that it took Jim a while to process it, and when he did he shook with an emotion too strong and complex to identify.  He rested his face just below Artie’s ear until he remembered how to breathe.  And then he whispered, “Why didn’t you ever say?”

“I wasn’t sure it was a good idea.  You seemed to be... struggling.  I thought you’d come to me in your own time- if you came to me at all.”

“Then what was this?”

“Honestly, Jim.”  Artie, who had let his hand sit lax on Jim’s ass, squeezed pointedly.  “I’m not made of stone.”

“Quit,” Jim said breathlessly.  The last thing he needed was to get excited again with this deputy Artie so expected on his way.  With a little effort, Jim stretched the hand trapped behind his back to catch Artie’s own and hold on to it.  That was nice, he thought- a little awkward, but the chance to thread their fingers together more than made up for it. 

“Anyway,” Artie continued, as innocently as he could manage under the circumstances- not very, but Jim gave him points for trying.  “Though the evening has taken a definite turn for the better- I _am_ sorry about today.”

Jim’s heart contracted.  “What I said about wanting to be home,” he told Artie quickly, before he could think better of the admission.  “I wasn’t really talking about a place.”

Artie laughed, and Jim would have been offended- except that it was obviously an involuntary reaction born of joy and surprise, the kind of awkward outburst Artie would never have planned in a million years.  He pressed a kiss to Jim’s forehead, and Jim could feel that he was still smiling.  “Happy birthday, Jim.”

Jim grinned himself and leaned his head back, feeling Artie’s mouth drag down his nose until Artie got the message and kissed him on the lips.  When they parted, he said, “Let’s spend the next one in a bed.”

“No arguments here,” Artie replied.  He laughed again.  Jim thought he could grow to love that laugh better than any sound in the world. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come see me on [tumblr](http://potentiality-26.tumblr.com).


End file.
